


Possession

by GlasyaLabolas



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Demons, Angst, Asphyxiation, Horror, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Psychological Horror, Sexual Harassment
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-24 22:46:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16184756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlasyaLabolas/pseuds/GlasyaLabolas
Summary: Izaya Orihara would not lose his sanity to some piece of jewelry.[Pseudo rewrite of An Information Bias.]





	1. I do as I am told

**Author's Note:**

> A quick clarification for readers of An Information Bias; this is a rewrite of its similar concepts and ideas and not a direct rewrite. Please do not read this story expecting a polished up carbon copy.

Izaya sits in desk chair with a scowl as he stares at the black box on his desk with a glare. His chin rests in his palm, his elbow propped on the armrest, while his socked heels are crossed atop his desk. _That bitch_ , his mind hisses. What was he supposed to do with this damned thing now?

 

“You misunderstood me, Orihara-san.” The young woman’s voice had shook along with her posture, her eyes drowning with panic. “I only wished to know _who_ possessed it now! I did _not_ want it returned to me! I-I’ll pay you what I promised, just h-have it sent back if you don’t want it!” She had left his office immediately after that, her eyes never leaving the box all the while.

 

Izaya had only taken the peculiar job because of its ease and the young woman in question being so unusual. Her residence and place of employment boasted supernatural oddities and traditional herbs, and it had been robbed the very same day a new employee had known of her absence.

 

Izaya sighs, shifting to stand from his chair. He reaches over, grabbing the box from his desk as he moves to sit on the glass surface. _She refused to touch it,_ he thinks with both suspicion and concern. He had already touched the damn thing while retrieving it, there was no use being shy with it now. Lifting the top like a traditional clam shell box, Izaya reveals the rather plain accessory to examine again. A choker, fairly typical for a young woman into Gothic fashions. Its silk material a pure black, its only unique feature is the large gem seated in a silver rim. The pink, oval cut sapphire catches the afternoon sunlight from Izaya’s windows, glinting as he rotates it between his fingers. The accessory is simplistic as if from an older time, but it doesn’t show any wear to signify aging.

 

“ _If you don’t want it,_ ” was such a strange thing to say.

 

Izaya blinks with a slight shake of his head. Perhaps he was vain, but there is only one thing to do with such an accessory. Standing up, he automatically walks towards the nearest mirror. Izaya runs the silk between his fingers, feeling its smoothness, until his fingertips are at both ends. Holding up the choker, he lines the gemstone up with the center of his neck before pressing the cool material to his skin. His fingers naturally move to tie the silk into a ribbon, a petite frown forming on his face as he realizes that there will be spare material hanging around the back of his neck.

 

Izaya strokes down his neck as he appraises his image. The black band sticks out against his pale skin, providing him with a ghostly allure. The pink sapphire contrasts with the black silk while highlighting his fair skin tone with its bright hue. It doesn’t really go with his image, the gemstone’s pink color is horribly out of place, but he could certainly find far more hideous accessories to adorn.

 

Turning back towards the box abandoned on his desk, Izaya maneuvers his hands around to untie the loose silk. He grasps behind his neck and freezes mid-step as his fingers fail to catch the material. His fingers jerk to his neck, feeling around the rim of the silk for the ribbon, only to continue feeling the material flat against his skin.

 

The silk feels tighter against Izaya’s neck as panic slowly builds within his chest. “This can’t be,” Izaya scoffs with an uneasy frown. He had tied it _himself_ , he had _seen_ the loose material, he had _felt_ it rest against his skin. Pacing back to the mirror, Izaya twists his neck over his shoulder to see where the silk should be tied into a bow, only to see the flat silk ring his nape. He chokes out a laugh as he turns to face the mirror properly, glaring at the gem in the pendant.

 

Izaya Orihara would not lose his sanity to some piece of jewelry. The switchblade tucked in his back pocket is in his hand within a second, the sharp blade springing out from the handle with a quick flick of his finger. Izaya has plenty of experience slicing through Shizuo’s clothes; some flimsy silk should tear like tissue paper! With the aid of the mirror, Izaya carefully lines the tip of the blade with the edge of the black silk as he presses a finger into his skin around the rim. As he gives his blade more room to snag the silk without risk of nicking himself, the choker responds in turn by tightening.

 

Izaya chokes, the silk squeezing his throat with the strength of a man. He jerks the blade away from his neck as his other hand immediately claws at the smooth material, desperately failing to gain a grip on it.

 

“I would’ve liked to make a friendlier introduction,” a familiar voice says with light regret, “but I’m afraid you forced my hand.”

 

Izaya turns sharply, backing up into the mirror with a soft clatter, as he comes face to face with the blond bartender. Shizuo looks as he would on any work day, disregarding the large slash already cut through the vest and shirt of his uniform. Izaya is starting to see pink spots now, the grip on his throat unrelenting, but he still manages to protectively raise his switchblade between himself and his long-time foe. How could he have gotten in without Izaya noticing? Shizuo was never quiet whenever he came looking for him and he certainly didn’t have a key to let himself in.

 

“Would you mind lowering your blade?” Shizuo asks, gesturing towards it with a finger. Izaya aptly responds with a swing, slicing the blond’s chest without resistance. The brunet’s eyes widen with panic as the blade passes through the blond as if he were merely air. There are more spots in his vision now, but he is far from blind.

 

 _I was slipped something_ , Izaya thinks, _I’m hallucinating._ But how could he have been? A gas? Was the choker laced with something that only required skin contact to work? That would provide a reason as to why his client had been so hesitant about touching it, but she would only need gloves to negate that. Izaya begins to slip down the mirror and towards the floor as he gasps for air that he can’t receive.

 

Izaya doesn’t want to consider the supernatural possibilities. He does not want to consider the accessory now asphyxiating him a cursed object. That would mean he had touched something not unlike Saika, that he had _willingly put it on himself_.

 

“My,” the Shizuo hallucination exhales with something akin to delight, “you are quite the fighter.”

 

Izaya’s grip on his switchblade weakens as a blackness begins to frame his vision. He’s slumping against the wall now, his legs almost too weak to hold himself up. Unable to collect any air to speak, he watches the hallucination of the blond crouch down in front of him and reach for his wrist. Izaya’s vision is blurring as Shizuo peels the switchblade from his hand, the other man turning into a blended mass of colors. The weight leaves his palm as the choker loosens, allowing a rush of air into the brunet’s lungs. Izaya gasps frantically, his fingers returning to claw at the material around his neck as his strength comes back.

 

“That’s not going to work,” the blond says. His attention is on the switchblade as he rotates it around in examination. Izaya’s breathing has evened by the time he tires of it. Retracting the blade, he tosses it off to the side, the switchblade clattering on the wooden floor as it lands across the room.

 

Izaya scrutinizes the blond expressionlessly as his vision clears, sending his stomach sinking. The Shizuo before him lacked the red slice where a blade would have met his skin to cut his uniform. The Shizuo before him did not have brown eyes. Izaya continues to stare as he straightens his posture, rising from his awkward crumble towards the floor.

 

The hallucination’s gaze flickers back to Izaya at his movement, the corner of his lip twitching into a smirk as the brunet stands tall and unwavering before him. He releases a soft chuckle with the bartender’s voice before changing his crouch into a bent knee. Pressing a hand to his mostly exposed chest, the blond softens his expression. “Dēloun,” he smoothly introduces with a quick tip of his head. The fake Shizuo’s bright pink eyes are aglow with laughter as he tilts his head back to gaze at Izaya while he purrs, “at your service.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're right. It's only a choker because Izaya in chokers is my fetish. (Send me art if you happen upon any!) Alas, I am still Delizaya trash. Now featuring an asphyxiation kink, I guess?
> 
> Hello all! If you're one of my old regulars, I'm very much not dead and I'm so appreciative that you've stuck with me for this long! If you're new, hello to you too as well! I've decided to go back to a lot of my old ideas and concepts from previous fan-fictions and rewrite them with my new skill-set. I hope you all can not only understand my decision but support me and not hold my older works against me! I've also recently made a new personal tumblr and I've decided to include its link in my profile until I get my writing tumblr sorted out and transferred over to my new account. Please don't use this as a way to pester me for updates but as another way to communicate with me! (Please don't spoil my faith in you guys! I so miss the little community I built with my regulars!)
> 
> As I used to say; comments of any kind are greatly appreciated. Especially criticism or to point out errors, since I'm without a beta reader and doing my own editing. I'll be updating the tags of this fic as I go, if anyone has tag recommendations for making this fic more accessible or to refine the warnings, please let me know in a comment. Thank you for reading!


	2. To be Loved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Izaya is up against the wall.

Dēloun rises, standing straight before Izaya and allowing the brunet to scrutinize his mimicked appearance better. The doppelganger’s bright pink irises aside, he was a perfect copy. With the other’s shirt in shreds, Izaya could even see the various scars he had given the blond himself over the years.

 

“A demon,” Izaya vocalizes his thoughts with a sneer. The information he has gathered on Saika seems largely useless compared to this entity. There were no reports of the possessed sword giving itself a form of any sort, instead possessing its host body. Could it just be a different type of demon entirely? Would all he have to do was remove the accessory from his person, or would he have to destroy it as well?

 

“Yes,” Dēloun answers with a toothy smile. “Familiar or clever?” He asks, tilting his head a fraction. Izaya refuses to reply, but the demon alters his question before waiting an appropriate length. “ _And_?” At that, Dēloun’s pink sapphire eyes roll over Izaya’s body like a critic appraising a favored art piece. It makes the brunet sick to his stomach.

 

Izaya grits his teeth, stretching the corner of his lip into a smirk. Weapons already proved useless, lacking another switchblade on hand did not matter. Without more information on the demon before him, all Izaya had to protect himself against the unknown was his mental faculties. “What kind of game did you hope to play with a ridiculous form like that?”

 

Dēloun blinks, gazing down at himself with blasé wonder. “When you moved to attempt cutting my choker off, I copied the most recent image from your memory.” Izaya refused to believe that as the whole truth. “That won’t work, by the way. You would have only cut yourself, had I not intervened. I could not allow you to harm yourself.” Izaya scoffs. Was this creature truly trying to come across as _valiant_? After almost choking him into unconsciousness? He wasn’t going to fall for such a mockery!

 

The demon fixes his eyes back on Izaya, those unnaturally bright irises never allowing Izaya to forget who wasn’t in front of him. “I understand your position and hesitancy to trust my words, but I must ask for you to hear me out.” Dēloun's expression remains calm as he speaks, his inhuman eyes somehow exuding respect. When Izaya remains silently staring, he continues on. “I would like for our relationship to be mutually beneficial. There is no need for harsh feelings or for fights of dominance, now that we are attached--”

 

“And what if I do not want a parasite to be leeching off of me?” Izaya interjects, his eyes narrowing into a glare as he tested the waters.

 

Dēloun’s chin tilts up to look down at the human before him. “I do not have to live parasitically. I can offer back much more than I’ll ever need to take.” The demon’s eyes neonize with light, their glow bleeding from their sockets. “I do not have to give you anything at all, it is from my own kindness and desire to keep my hosts alive that I will compromise with you.”

 

Izaya’s face cracks with a harsh laugh. “ _Kind_ _n_ _ess_?” The demon must underestimate him if he didn’t think Izaya would realize that he gains something from his long term living. The only question in Izaya’s mind now was _what_. Bringing his hand up to his neck, his fingers feel the soft silk practically glued to his flesh like a second skin. He can’t even remember what made him put the damned thing on in the first place. He found necklaces to be more hazardous in a scuffle than they’re worth in appearance.

 

“Yes,” the demon flatly replies. “I do not dislike nor hate your species, unlike some of my brethren.” Dēloun evenly meets Izaya’s gaze again, his lips spreading into a smirk. “In fact, I quite enjoy the company of humans.”

 

The demon is the first to turn his back on the other, twisting in place to gaze around the room with interest before moving deeper into the informant’s living room. “When you touched my box, I knew you would be perfect, Izaya Orihara.” Dēloun declares softly.

 

The sickness rises in Izaya’s stomach again, but he doesn’t allow it to stop him from slowly following behind the demon. He had yet to introduce himself, so what else did the demon already know about him from a mere touch? As Izaya stops several feet before the demon, the demon violently twists with a flash of light. Before he can blink away the light from his eyes, Izaya feels hands cupping and bringing his face upwards. The blond’s face is now inches away, his pink eyes hypnotically drawing in Izaya’s gaze with their inhuman glow.

 

“And then, when you put me on,” Dēloun exhales with a grin, “I got to _know_ you.”

 

Izaya’s heart jerks with panic. Despite his desire to break free from the demon’s grasp, his eyes refuse to move from the creature’s own. Izaya’s blood is running colder as he swears that he can see himself in those pink pools of poison. His reflection is all wrong, and Izaya’s stomach drops as he realizes that it’s an image of himself from his youth. That uniform, his younger face, the background he can barely force his eyes to focus on. Izaya suddenly knows what he’s being shown and finds the strength to twist free from the demon’s grasp.

 

Dēloun releases Izaya without a fight, silently watching as the brunet’s posture shrinks inward as he steps back. His eyes are blown wide with panic as he stares at the floor, his breathing disjointed and staccato. Despair settles in his chest like a winter cold. If the demon already knew of that, then what didn’t it already know about him?

 

“ _Bastard,_ ” Izaya hisses through grit teeth.

 

Dēloun grins as though he were praised instead of insulted. “All of those feelings you’ve packed away so tightly,” the demon coos with a step forward. Izaya’s face snaps back up to look at the creature as he approaches, his body freezing and lungs expelling all of his oxygen at the demon’s hungry gaze. Izaya knows both the crazed look of Shizuo’s eyes as he chases after him in a fit of rage and the wild eyed look only a food starved carnivore could achieve when presented with a slab of prime meat, and now the unholy union of the two was zeroed in on him.

 

Izaya does not know if he’s too frozen to react or if the demon is supernaturally fast as Dēloun cups his face again. The blond’s palm slides under Izaya’s chin, his calloused fingers digging into his cheeks just enough for a grip, and brings Izaya’s face closer as he leans forward. “You’re just like a juicy little battery to me.” Izaya’s locked eyes widen, missing the way the blond runs his tongue along the inside of his lips. “Sucking you dry will bring me the utmost pleasure.”

 

It’s then that the demon releases Izaya’s face and the brunet falls onto his ass on the floor, his knees long forgetting to keep him upright. He doesn’t hesitate to scramble backwards, picking himself off of the floor without turning his back to the creature. Izaya’s fingers twitch for a switchblade. As useless as it would be, any feeling of security would be welcomed. Before even knowing of the demon’s presence, it had already dug through his memories and his mind. He feels thoroughly violated, the only place he would ever be truly safe stripped from him before he even realized it was gone.

 

“As I said, I would like this to be a mutually beneficial relationship.” Dēloun continues, approaching and forcing Izaya to move backwards until the brunet’s back is against the wall again. “Keep me fed,” the demon bows like a practiced servant, a hand crossing over his chest, “and my abilities are at your disposal.”

 

Izaya’s heart is beating heavily against his ribcage. Those pink sapphire eyes have yet to leave him, their glow peeking through his bleach blond fringe. Thoughts on what the creature could possibly offer was quickly discarded in Izaya’s mind in favor of the raw anger boiling in his chest. Izaya only stands to lose, the demon before him already knew him inside and out. Whatever partnership it was offering was surely a farce, and a rather pathetic one at that. Until Izaya can figure out how to remove the cursed accessory from his flesh, he was stuck with this parasite attached to him.

 

“And if I don’t ‘feed’ you?” Izaya asks, prompting the demon to slowly rise from his bow.

 

“Then, eventually, I’ll just have to take what I require from you.” Dēloun says with sickening disinterest, his expression growing bored. “I’d like to avoid such unpleasantries, but, in the long run, it hardly makes a difference to me.” He shrugs his shoulders as Izaya releases a harsh laugh, his body bending inwards with the force of the expelled air.

 

“Fine,” Izaya hisses with the last of his air supply. It did not matter whether he agreed or not, the demon would do as it pleased to him, his choice was simply there for him to feel as though he had an option at all in the matter. Agreeing, in the very least, would bring him some more ease and maneuverability with the creature.

 

Dēloun's expression splits with a smile, his palms joining together with a clap. “Wonderful!” With another flash of light, the demon is invading Izaya’s space again. Izaya startles backwards with a soft jerk, impossibly pressing himself harder against the wall. His gaze strays momentarily as the blond plants his hand on the wall alongside of his head, fully trapping him on one side. Raising his free hand, Dēloun traces down Izaya’s jaw with his stolen fingertips. Izaya’s breathing stutters from the sudden gentle touch, his gaze whipping back to the blond’s face. The demon is still smiling at him with that beast’s disgusting face as his fingers still under his chin. “How would you feel if we sealed our partnership with a kiss?”

 

Izaya’s body shudders at the smooth whisper, his eyes widening with horror. He never sought out the company of others, and now his touch-starved body would betray him in this awakened nightmare. Izaya’s stomach manages to drop further as the blond slowly leans in with a smirk, his inhuman eyes finally relenting and dimming into a soft honey brown.

 

“ _Ah, yes,_ ” the doppelganger husks, his warm breath ghosting across Izaya’s parting lips. “You’re going to be _delicious_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Feed me, Seymour, feed me all night long.)  
> Music is a wonderful tool when writing. I actually listened to that song, Mowgli's Road by Marina and The Diamonds, and Push Me Down by Lana Del Rey a lot while working on this chapter. I have quite a few of Lana's songs on my "writing Delic" playlist, and these songs have a tendency to spill over into my Delic/Izaya fanfic playlists... (How shameful, LOL.)
> 
> As always, comments of any kind are greatly appreciated. Especially criticism or to point out errors, since I'm without a beta reader and doing my own editing. I'll be updating the tags of this fic as I go, if anyone has tag recommendations for making this fic more accessible or to refine the warnings, please let me know in a comment. Thank you for reading!


End file.
